“Dietrich, my man!” I beam as we clasp hands to elbows.
“Your Highness.” He inclines his head in deference.
“Don’t pull that ‘Your Highness’ bullshit on me, Maier. You know what your Shels did to me!” Our support of rival football teams is a constant source of friendly, occasionally heated, banter, much to his wife’s bemusement.
He throws his head back in a booming laugh. “Sir, your Navy Blues haven’t been the same since you fired your coach last season.”
I’m about to hit back with a retort about outspending the financial fair play rule when my kneesare about knocked out from under me. I stumble a bit, sloshing a few drops of whiskey, and catch onto Dietrich’s shoulder before I lose my balance completely.
“What the...?” I turn to see a puddle of pink tulle and blonde curls on the floor. Two of my security are pushing through the crowded ballroom, but I hold up my hand and wave them off. “Hey there, little lamb.” I drop to one knee beside the small girl on the floor.
Just then, someone else is at her side, scooping up the child and cooing. “There, there, Darcy dearest. No tears now.” She looks up at me. “I’m terribly sorry.”
My heart speeds a little as her insanely green eyes catch mine. They widen as realization dawns on her.
“Oh, Your Highness. Please forgive me.” She bounces the toddler in her arms. “She wanted to see her father before we go home for bed. I should have had a better hold on her.”
I hold out a hand to help her off the floor as I try to place her accent.American for sure, but what part?She is nearly as tall as me—likely in heels—though it’s hard to tell with the hem her dress still brushing the floor.Fuck, she’s pretty.
“Far be it from me to keep a girl from her daddy.” I can’t help but smile at the look of utter mortification, her pale cheeks turning a delicate rosy color. She parts her perfectly bowed lips as if to say something, and I am transfixed, wondering if that red lipstick would smear if I kissed her. I tear my eyes away before I stare too long.
“Darcy, is it?” I ask the girl. She nods, curls bouncing. I tap her plump little cheek. “You tell your daddy that I think Morton Schreckengost’s summer transfer acquisitions at Shelford were a clear violation of the spending cap, and even that hasn’t helped them top the table.”
The child gives me a quizzical expression, but Dietrich chuckles. I step aside to allow him to go to his daughter. He plucks her from the arms of the woman I assume is the nanny.
“That’s because Shelford spent so much on their offence, they couldn’t pay for a decent center back to replace Mikkelsen,” the nanny says, smoothing the form-fitting satin around hips that are begging to be grabbed.
It’s my turn to go wide-eyed. “You know football?”
She shrugs. “A little.”
“Sounds like more than a little to me.” She smiles sweetly, and I’m once again drawn to those shapely lips. “And who do you support?”
“Portyard. They seem to have stayed truest to their factory team roots.”
Christ, as if she couldn’t be any hotter, this woman knows her footie. “The Navy Blues do have a certain unrefined air to their tactics. Have you been to a match?”
“A few in college, but none lately. My schedule is rather full.” She shifts on her feet slightly, and I’m drawn to those curves once more as her seafoam green sheath dress rustles. She sees me staring and blushesagain. “Sorry, these shoes are killing me. I don’t normally dress like this.”
“No? I thought heels and evening gowns were ideal for chasing around rugrats.”
Her laugh is warm and unrestrained, like it welled from her chest and out, nothing like the tittering of courtiers and gentleladies I’m constantly surrounded with. It sends a shock of delight through me, and I want to hear that true laughter again. A stray strand of hair has come loose, and I reach up to tuck it behind her ear. I hear her breath hitch, and she drops her gaze. I step back, cursing myself.Too touchy, get a hold on yourself, Friedrich.
“I should get the children to bed,” she mutters, eyes still fixed on the floor.
“Can I take you to a match sometime?” Nerves I haven’t felt in a long time pound in my chest. She lifts her head, meeting my eyes, and her green ones only make the pounding increase. They’re green like spring grass, leaves in the summer, like innocence and youth and new beginnings. The green of life and nature and joy. Such joy.
She draws in her eyebrows, creating the slightest crease between them. “You want to take me to a soccer match?”
“Well, not if you’re going to call it soccer,” I chuckle.
She does too, but not that full laugh I got earlier. “Sorry, football. And I’d love to, but like I said, I’mrather busy for the foreseeable future. My only days off are Sundays.”
“I’ll take you to a Sunday match then.”
“I go out with my friend every Sunday.”
She isn’t going to make this easy on me.“Bring her too. Or him?” I add hesitantly.
